


Between Your Ears, Behind Your Eyes

by maguuma_blues



Series: one step at a time (aka melancholy Jaskier.) [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, M/M, Panic Attacks, References to PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22619065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maguuma_blues/pseuds/maguuma_blues
Summary: Jaskier doesn’t like blood. It’s not a startling realization, not in and of itself, but it is a realization all the same. It’s not like he was ever obsessed with it to begin with, but his dislike for it has seemed to worsen after a certain bandit attack a year, two months, and three days ago. No, he’s not keeping count. Really, it’s more anecdotal than anything else at this point.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: one step at a time (aka melancholy Jaskier.) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620511
Comments: 12
Kudos: 376





	Between Your Ears, Behind Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> mmkay,, so this is going into my melancholy Jaskier series but it's more of it's own lil thing than a follow up to anything that's going on in that lil universe. Anyways, proceed with caution, please, I'd hate for anyone to get triggered from this, so if you can't read about panic attacks or,, blood related trauma, this likely isn't for you. Please be safe. This is a big vent for me,, and I gotta say, almost passing out from having a bloody nose isn't fun.

Jaskier doesn’t like blood. It’s not a startling realization, not in and of itself, but it is a realization all the same. It’s not like he was ever obsessed with it to begin with, but his dislike for it has seemed to worsen after a certain bandit attack a year, two months, and three days ago. No, he’s not keeping count. Really, it’s more anecdotal than anything else at this point. 

What does bother him is how fuzzy and muddled the memories have become. And you might say that that’s a small blessing, and in some ways you would be right. Only, he can’t help but be bothered by the fact that he’s forgotten how many stitches Geralt had to give him that night— ~~_seven. Seven stitches._~~ _—_ added on top of the peculiar incident that just happened the day prior. 

By incident, he means where he almost passed out. From a bloody nose. Truly up there on his list of accomplishments. He takes solace in the fact that Geralt wasn’t there to see his limbs grow heavy, and his breathing become short from looking at his own blood for too long. At least, that’s what he thinks happened; it caught him quite off guard. And while this is fundamentally embarrassing, he can’t help but wonder if something is wrong with him for having such a reaction. 

Ultimately, he knows that what happened a year, two months, and three days ago wasn’t something to write off. It was quite horrific, and he can’t remember being that panicked in his entire life. 

You see, a bandit had plunged a knife deep into Jaskier’s leg. And the bard will be the first to admit that it’s hard for your brain to catch up with a profuse amount of blood leaving your body very quickly. Panic pervades the senses first, and everything after seems to happen in slow motion as you realize just what it is that’s hot, thick, and wet pouring out of you. 

Anyways, something like that leaves a lasting impression on the mind. It’s hard to think of little else for the first few months, and his thoughts are still drawn to it at least once a day, even a year afterwards. 

Jaskier will admit, though, that he thought he was getting better about it. He had cast it off to the side, locked it away in a box, cast it away to the metaphorical back burner, etc., etc. In some ways, he’s sure he has. In others… 

* * *

“I almost had a faint yesterday,” Jaskier says nonchalantly, as though discussing the weather. Geralt stops cleaning his sword briefly, eyes flicking up but Jaskier doesn’t meet them. It’s warm in their room, likely from the fireplace, but it could also be chalked up to the tension that came with that statement. 

“What happened?” Geralt humors him after a moment or two, after it’s clear the bard won’t elaborate. 

“My nose started leaking in the worst way possible,” Jaskier says, adding a dramatic and completely unnecessary flourish to one of the end letters of a word; he’s working on a new ballad, you see. 

“Is this about…?” And that’s a new one; Jaskier hasn’t heard Geralt sound tentative before, not when talking to him. 

“I’m sure it plays a factor,” he says, “A bad reaction upon seeing my own blood.” 

Another few moments pass before the witcher speaks again, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I didn’t think it to be relevant at the time,” Jaskier still won’t look at him; a lie. 

“And it’s relevant now because?” 

_Now you can’t leave me behind because of some strange affliction I may or may not have. I’m fine now._ Jaskier thinks, but doesn’t say. He takes a cue from Geralt and remains silent, save for a hum, quietly relishing the irritated huff that comes from the witcher. 

“If it happens again, I want to know.” Geralt says finally. 

“Why?” 

“Would you want me to keep my injuries from you?” 

What’s infuriating is he has a fair point, but there’s one little blip— “No, but I care about you. Ah, I see,” he pauses. “You don’t want to be slowed down; fair enough.” 

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” 

“Care to share, then, why on Earth would you care if not for that reason? Or will you finally push past your stubborn pride and admit that we’re friends? And that you actually care about what happens to me?” He’s toying, now, teasing; fishing. He knows Geralt cares. 

“Hm,” Is all Geralt offers. 

* * *

It happens again. He has another damn bloody nose—it’s not his fault that it’s cold and arid this time of year, really, it can’t be helped—and this time, Geralt is there. It’s been well over a month since their unenlightening conversation, and they’re on the outskirts of Vizima. 

They’ve only been trekking for a few hours, Jaskier prattling along to fill the silence—if only to believe that Geralt is listening to anything he’s saying—and it happens. 

And it’s not some big, huge, eyesore of an ordeal; it wasn’t the first time it happened, either. Jaskier merely pulls out a handkerchief with a quiet curse and tries to stop the bleeding as best he can in the circumstances. 

And it’s sudden, the constriction in his chest when he sees all the blood. It’s not quite as confusing as the first time it happened—at least he knows what to expect now—but it still sends a jolt of panic to his muddled brain. His limbs feel heavy, and suddenly he has to kneel down, and his vision is hazy. 

“Geralt–” he calls out, and gods it’s so hard for him to breathe.

And suddenly, Geralt is off of Roach and kneeling at his side, placing a calming hand on his back. “Deep breaths, Jaskier,” 

“I–” 

Geralt hushes him, and Jaskier can’t help but feel as vulnerable as he did a month ago. The hand on his back is grounding, and he tries to focus on it as the spell of dizziness passes. Blood is still dripping from his nose, and onto the ground. 

He’s trembling, hands shaking, his breathing is still coming too fast, and the blood is still just— ~~_pouring out of him_~~ — _dripping_. “Geralt,” 

And Geralt pulls Jaskier into an embrace, and really, that’s more of a shock than anything that’s currently happening. He’s not complaining, though, don’t you dare say that. 

“I–I’ll get blood on you,” he blurts out. 

“Not like I’m not used to it.” Geralt says simply, and it’s comforting. It shouldn’t be, but his breathing is already slowing down; he’s not alone. 

Jaskier can’t help the shaky breath that leaves him, tears forming in his eyes, and he holds onto the leather straps on the back of Geralt’s armor like they’re a lifeline. _“Thank you.”_

“Mm.” Geralt grunts. 

They sit there until Jaskier’s breathing is calm, and the trembling is finished; when his nose finally stops bleeding. “I know how foolish this all is, you don’t have to tell me.” he mumbles.

“It’s not foolish,” Geralt says. “You went through a lot that night.” 

And he did, didn’t he? It’s so easy now to forget just how traumatic it all was a year, three months, and four days ago. He starts to tremble again, and—it might just be wishful thinking—he swears Geralt’s grip on him tightens minutely. 

“I thought I was doing better,” Jaskier says, and there’s an ache in his chest now. “I thought I had moved past it.” 

“Pushing it aside to deal with later isn’t moving past it, Jaskier.” And Jaskier can’t help but hate how right he is about that. “If you leave a wound untended, it gets infected. It festers.” 

“I know.” 

“Same concept.” 

“I just don’t know what to do, Geralt.” 

“You have to face it.” 

“I don’t want to.” Jaskier’s voice is small, barely a whisper. 

“Which is why you _have_ to.” Geralt finally pulls away to look at him, and Jaskier mourns the loss of his arms around him. “You can’t push it away anymore.”

“I don’t know how to do anything else! It happened so long ago that I–” 

“You’ll find a way,” Geralt interrupts. “And I’ll… be here.” It sounds like a painful thing to say, but it warms Jaskier to hear it regardless. He can’t help but smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> Titles are hard, y'all,,, thank u for reading.


End file.
